Never Impossible
by Laura Schiller
Summary: To make up for the ordeal of Christmas, the Doctor offers Clara a childhood dream come true. Her request? To meet her favorite author, Amelia Williams. 12/River, Amy/Rory. A thoroughly fluffy fix-it for "Angels Take Manhattan" and "Silence in the Library" at once.
1. Chapter 1

Never Impossible

By Laura Schiller

Based on: Doctor Who

Copyright: BBC

"Can I help you?" Rory asked warily, squinting with sleepy eyes through a crack in the door of his apartment.

The strangers stared back. They were a tall, middle-aged man in a navy blue suit and a woman in a lace-collared blouse and miniskirt, so small she only came up to his shoulder. She was smiling nervously. Under Rory's gaze, the smile vanished.

"Rory, it's me," said the man, in a rough Scotch accent unnervingly like Amy's. "But of course. You don't recognize me, do you?"

"Sorry, no." Rory pulled the door a little closer. "And I've got to say, I don't appreciate strangers at my flat after midnight. Especially strangers who call me by my first name."

"Oh, sorry," said the young woman, her brown eyes anxious as she glanced from her companion to him. "We didn't realize it was so late. Time travel does that."

"Wait. Time travel?" Rory asked flatly. "Anyone care to explain what's going on?"

"I see you haven't changed … " The stranger smirked. "Mr. Pond."

That's when it hit him like a dash of cold water to the face. Only one man he knew had ever called him that.

Impossible.

"_Amy_!" he yelled over his shoulder. "Amy, get over here, you're not gonna believe this!"

He heard his wife before he saw her, stomping down the hall and muttering darkly about what she did to people who woke her at this unholy hour. Wrestling on a bathrobe, red hair twisting in all directions like a bonfire, scowling at them all with a face flushed with sleep, she was still unutterably lovely. Judging by the manic grin that spread across the man's face, and the wide-eyed awe on the woman's, they felt the same way.

"Amy," said Rory, sweeping his arms in the visitors' direction, "It's the Doctor. The Doctor's come back."

Amy grabbed a nearby doorframe for support, her hazel eyes enormous. Her face flashed through such a kaleidoscope of emotions that only Rory could have kept up with them: Surprise. Joy. Confusion. Despair. Ecstasy. Finally, she settled on suspicion, her eyebrows drawing together with an almost audible _click _as she looked the strangers up and down.

"Prove it," she snapped.

"Uh, he did call me Mr. Pond," Rory muttered in her ear.

The old man whipped a sonic screwdriver (thinner and sleeker than his old design, and with a blue light at the top) out of his pocket and pointed it at the weak hallway lamp, making it glow a dazzling gold that made all five of their faces glow like movie stars'. Amy folded her bathrobe closer around her, holding in the twitch of a smile.

"Not good enough. For all I know, you could've stolen it. Tell me something only the Doctor knows."

"All right," said the faux Scot, with quiet intensity. "The first time we met, I was in mid-regeneration. I crashed my TARDIS into your back yard, tasted my way through half the contents of your fridge, threw everything out except for fish fingers and custard, and promised to fix the interdimensional crack in your wall. I said I'd be back in five minutes, and even though my timing was rather badly off, I kept my promise in the end."

There was a deep well of love in his unfamiliar blue eyes that Rory had seen countless times in a pair of green ones. That, if nothing else, would have been enough to convince him.

"I made another promise to Brian, and it was to bring the two of you home safely. I know I'm a little late, Ponds, but give me a break," cracking a smile for the first time and holding out his thin, aged hands. "You know what New York traffic can be like."

Amy shrieked with joy and pounced on the Doctor for a hug. Rory, without the shriek but with a face-splitting grin, did the same.

"I knew it was you!" Amy squealed. "I knew it! Just messing with you, Raggedy Man!"

"You're incorrigible, Pond."

"Oh yeah? Well, you're _gray!_ And Scottish – how can you be Scottish?"

"Don't even ask. It's a lottery."

"No, no, it's perfect! You sound – oh, Doctor, after all these years as part of my family, you finally sound like it."

They swayed together in the hallway, laughing and crying, slapping each other's backs, over and over again – until a dainty little throat-clearing noise behind them made them step apart with giddy embarrassment.

"You see, I followed your orders," said the Doctor, twitching his fingers to call the brunette in the lace collar to come closer. "I don't travel alone. Ponds, meet Clara. Clara Oswald. You may remember her as Oswin the Soufflé Girl."

Rory chuckled to himself at the memory of the rapid, high-pitched voice guiding him through the Dalek Asylum, flirting with him all the way. Trust the Doctor to track her down again, even after the whole planet exploded around her.

"Oswin?" Amy breathed. "Oh, so you saved her after all!"

"Yes. No. Sort of. Long story." Oswin, or rather Clara, blushed and ducked her head. "But – you're Amelia Williams? _The _Amelia Williams? _Summer Falls _has been my favorite book since I was little. I can't believe I finally get to meet you!"

She seized Amy's hand with both her smaller ones when they shook. Her brown eyes shone.

"I like you already," Amy joked, making all four of them laugh. "Now c'mon, I think we'd better get inside before these two old men catch cold."

"Oi!" said Rory and the Doctor in unison. Clara giggled.


	2. Chapter 2

A few minutes later, they were all settled in together in the parlour, Rory handing around cups of tea and a plate of American chocolate chip cookies before settling next to his wife on the sofa. The Doctor lounged in a wicker chair like a lean, elegant cat, one leg crossed over the other; Clara sat in the armchair with her hands in her lap, looking rather like a child proudly sitting up with the adults. When the Doctor reached out for one of the cookies, Amy shot him a motherly glare that made him snort with laughter.

"Watch it, mister." She shook a finger at him. "I just cleaned that."

"Relax. I got my taste-bud test out of the way in the TARDIS kitchen, and I guarantee you that chocolate agrees with me."

He took a bite of the cookie, shuddered, bolted for the kitchen, and came back flushed with righteous indignation. "You call this chocolate?" he sputtered. "It's a bloody biohazard!"

Amy laughed until she doubled over, her hands on her stomach. "God, I missed you," she gasped, sweeping her hair back from her teary eyes.

"I don't know how you survived in this benighted country for so long," the Doctor grumbled as he folded himself back into his chair. "Can't even make chocolate. Honestly."

"Aaand … now that we've got all the pleasantries out of the way," said Rory, with that familiar rush of fond exasperation, "Are you going to explain to us how you got here without blowing up New York? 'Cause, you know. Time distortions and all. You said there was no way for the TARDIS to travel here."

The Doctor's new wrinkles pulled into a very familiar smirk. "Easy. I took the bus."

"The bus," Rory echoed in flat disbelief.

"Yes, Rory, the bus. Large, smelly, human machine on wheels. With a shockingly rude driver, I might add. Left the TARDIS just outside the city limits. You know the Old Girl, she takes care of herself."

"Damn." Rory smacked his forehead. "Why didn't _we _think of that?"

"Because you couldn't." The Doctor fished his battered paperback copy of _Melody Malone: Touched By An Angel _out of his breast pocket. "In order for the time loop to remain stable, you had to honestly believe you'd be stuck here for good when you wrote this afterword. Also," he leaned back smugly as he re-pocketed the book, "I am a genius."

All three of his companions rolled their eyes.

"But… what about that grave?" Amy frowned. "We saw our own grave, remember? You said time can be rewritten, but not if you've read it … "

"Nobody said there had to be bodies under there," said the Doctor.

Rory shook his head and let out a long, low whistle.

"It was Clara, you know," with a nod in his new companion's direction. "Bit of a shock for her, my regeneration. I promised her a childhood dream come true to make up for it, and the one she chose was meeting her favorite author. She wouldn't have minded the Catkind instead, but I, er … couldn't stand to disappoint her, and so this brand-new brain just kept churning away until I found the right solution. The old me, baby-faced me, he had a flair for the grand gesture, didn't he?.Me, I'm a simple bloke. Although," wrinkling his nose, "Not simple enough to actually _enjoy _potholes and petrol fumes."

"I see," said Rory.

"And now I've found out you're friends with the Doctor," Clara added warmly, "I'm even happier to be here than before."

She beamed around at the antique maps and swirling Impressionist paintings on the walls, the vase of sunflowers on the coffee table, and the rows of sun-bleached books, as if she'd stepped into the study of Shakespeare himself.

"Is that the "Lord of Winter" painting from _Summer Falls_? And that," gesturing to a gray cat statuette sitting with its tail curled around its paws, "Is that the cat who dies in Chapter Eleven? God, I cried my eyes out. So happy he comes back to life again, even if he is a bit of a jerk. And d'you mind if I ask you why all the adult characters in the book are so useless – except maybe the Curator, who's more like a child himself?"

"Clara," said the Doctor warningly.

"Is it a symbol of the alienation that children feel when they grow up without a responsible caretaker? I've always loved that about Kate, you see, the way she learns to take care of herself, even with one parent gone and the other so depressed." For a moment, sadness crossed her face, but she shook it off with a determined smile. "I'm an English teacher, you see. Before that, I was a nanny. Your book was one of the things that inspired me to work with children – to be to them what the Curator is to Kate."

"Clara – "

"Oh my stars, the Curator's the Doctor, isn't he?" she gasped. "A wheezing car with a phone in the nineteen-fifties and a shed that makes a cat talk, ooh, I should've guessed!" She punched her fist into her palm, glowing with excitement, not noticing that both her idol and said idol's husband were looking quite taken aback.

"_Clara,_" said the Doctor, biting back amusement. "For God's sake, let the woman get a word in!"

"Oh." Clara, dizzy from her rush of questions, put a hand on her chest and took some deep breaths to calm down. "Sorry," she said, smiling sheepishly. "Shutting up now."

"Never thought I'd see the day when _I'd_ be your star exhibit, Doctor," Amy remarked, trying to sound offended, which was not easy when her eyes twinkled like birthday candles. "Remember when you took me to see van Gogh?"

"You flatter yourself, Pond," snorted the Doctor.

"C'mon," said Rory, squeezing her around the waist. "I always knew you'd be a star one day, Amy. And, for that matter, so did you."

"About your questions," said Amy, turning to Clara. "Yes, the Curator is the Doctor. Bit obvious for anyone who knows him, isn't it? I was actually hoping to get in touch with other time travellers through that book, but this is even better than I'd hoped."

The two women shared a confidential smile.

"As to Kate and that poor sleepy mother of hers … " Amy shrugged. "Honestly, I can't be sure where they came from. Either one might have been me at different points in my life. I have a daughter too. Melody. She's grown up now, but she comes around to visit sometimes … still, I miss her."

Her faraway gaze landed on a framed photograph on the bookshelf. It showed a woman with a mane of dark blond curls, wearing a slinky black dress, posing with one hand on her hip for the camera. She looked far too old to be Amy and Rory's daughter, but if time travel ran in the family, that could be explained.

She also looked familiar. Clara blinked.

"Is that … no way!"

"It is indeed," said the Doctor. "Professor River Song of Luna University, A. K. A. Melody Pond. My wife."

"I met her!"

"You did."

"This is … I can't even … Christ, Doctor, if JK Rowling or Benedict Cumberbatch walks through that door next, I swear I'll faint."

The Doctor shook with a laugh like a silent earthquake. Amy snorted. Rory, putting on a look of glum self-deprecation, put out his hand to Clara across the table.

"Rory Williams, A. K. A. Mr. Amelia Pond. Certified nurse, Roman centurion, and the only non-glamorous member of this family. Pleased to meet you."

"We've met," said Clara. "Sort of. You're the one I – Oswin – called Nina. Nose to – sorry! I mean, _nice_ to see you again."

Rory covered his forehead with his hand and let out an exaggerated groan.

"So, Clara, you know about River, do you?" Amy inquired, with a pointed look between Clara and the Doctor in their separate chairs, and another look at her husband, who met it with a meaningful nod. "_That's_ good to hear. I wasn't sure you'd tell a pretty girl like her that you were married."

"Stand down, Ponds," said the Doctor. "Clara is a friend."

"Good," said Rory, poker-faced. "Because you know what would happen if you ever made our daughter unhappy. I may have a sword, but I'd be lucky to get to what was left of you after _she_ finished."

Clara, who could not guess how much of this, if anything, was a joke, found it all ever so slightly unnerving. Judging by the equal gravity of his expression, so did the Doctor.

"River is, and always will be, my wife," he said simply, and it rang with all the force of a passionate declaration of love. "In fact, that's the third reason I tracked you down, Ponds. Because River is trapped, and she needs our help. With four of us on the case, it should be easy."


	3. Chapter 3

In the course of their brainstorming session over tea, Clara slowly began to feel a little less awed by the presence of her heroine, and a little more lost. These friends – this _family _– had so obviously lived, traveled and fought together for years. They used references to names and places she had never heard of, laughed over jokes she did not know. She nibbled disconsolately on a chocolate chip cookie (which, if not exactly a biohazard, was certainly very dry and more bitter than sweet) and tried not to look at her watch.

"We could make her a Ganger body," was Rory's suggestion once the Doctor had outlined the situation with the Library planet.

"Don't even think about it!" snapped Amy, with a sudden fierceness that Clara had no idea of whether it was justified or not. "Did you forget what happened last time?"

"She's right," said the Doctor. "One wrong electrical current and she'd collapse. Can't have that.

"Got any better ideas?" Rory lifted his hands. "Go ahead."

"What about that thing you used at Lake Silencio?" Amy broke in, snapping her fingers repeatedly to help her memory. "That whatchamacallit … the Tessalecta!"

"Taking a leaf out of my book, eh?" The Doctor scrunched up his face thoughtfully. "Hmm. We'd have to catch her before she even reaches the Library, then. But how to convince her to wear it? After all, she's not exactly known for following orders."

"But if her _life _was in danger - "

"She's my wife and your daughter, Pond. Since when does that stop her? Even if we told her details – which we can't, because, well, spoilers – knowing her, she'd probably volunteer anyway."

Amy sighed. "Touché."

"Besides, when I came back to consciousness … " The Doctor swallowed and rubbed his hand across his mouth, as if remembering a nauseating sight or smell, or both. "That space suit of hers was well and truly scorched. The Tessalecta is fireproof. It couldn't have looked like that."

A tense silence filled the room as River Song's parents caught a tight hold of each other's hands.

"The only question," added the Doctor, "Is whether or not her body was inside it. I didn't stop to … to check, at the time. Assumed it was ashes. But maybe … "

Clara, feeling sorry for Amy and Rory but also completely disoriented (what in the universe was a Tessalecta?) was playing with her jewelry, twisting them around and around her wrists. The gold-plated one from her Gran; the charm bracelet with the little book, rose and maple leaf from the Maitland family; her mother's silver ring; her watch …

Her watch.

"Wait!" she gasped. "I have an idea!"

"Let's hear it," Amy challenged.

_Chin up, Oswald, _she ordered herself. _She may be Amelia Williams, but she's only human. _

"The thing is," she began, "One time the Doctor and I got a call to UNIT's base under the Tower of London, and I picked up this gadget – Kate Stewart gave it to me – and in all the craziness later, which I won't go into, I sort of forgot to give it back. I think it might be helpful. It's called a … vortex manipulator? Looks like an old wristwatch, but it actually travels in space and time."

There was a hush – not a sad one, like before, but one positively buzzing with hope. The Doctor turned the full force of his ice-blue eyes on her, gripping the arms of his chair until his knuckles turned white.

"You mean to say," he said, "That if we gave her this, and if she activated it at _precisely _the right moment before the explosion - "

"She could escape?" He, Amy and Rory asked in breathless unison.

"That's about it, yeah," said Clara, feeling herself blush under their combined scrutiny. "Think it'll work?"

The new Doctor was not, as a rule, demonstrative. In this moment, however, the way he bounced out of his chair, grabbed her hands and swung her to her feet would have done credit to his younger self. She laughed dizzily in his hold as they spun across the carpet.

"You impossible girl, of course it's going to work! Why didn't _I _think of that?"

"Maybe I'm a genius too," she teased.

"A total, screaming genius. As you said yourself."

"So what are we waiting for?" Amy stood up, wiped her hands on her skirt, and motioned to her husband with an imperious toss of her fiery hair. "Rory, get your coat. We've got a long bus ride ahead of us."


	4. Chapter 4

"Honey," came a low, masculine murmur close above River's head. "I'm home."

She did not recognize the narrow face and silver curls at first, but his telepathic presence was unmistakable. He felt like a lightning storm in her mind, quick and strong and awe-inspiringly lovely. She smiled up at him in unadulterated joy. The impossible man had outdone himself this time.

She was in the TARDIS medbay. She knew it by the odd turquoise light, by the jumble of tools and textbooks from every era known to life forms, and most of all by the joyful humming of her second mother as she welcomed her daughter home. She was in a bed, blankets chivalrously drawn up, and on her wrist as she glanced downward was the only logical explanation for her rescue: a vortex manipulator.

Not the old one stolen from a Time Agent, which had broken a while ago. A newer one, which had been dropped into her inbox on Luna just before she began the Library mission. She had scanned the thing within an inch of its life, suspicious of the cryptic warning note that came with it, and nearly decided not to wear it after all.

_Thank God I changed my mind._

"And what sort of time do you call this?" she purred, an old marital joke between them. It was only then she realized that her voice had changed … and for that matter, so had her hands.

"What the … ?" A cough seized her throat, and to her horror, it came out as a cloud of golden light.

"You regenerated," said the Doctor matter-of-factly. "Don't you remember? You cut it very close with your teleport there – just in time to keep from getting roasted to cinders, but not too soon to take heavy damage. You were in and out of consciousness for hours, hallucinating spacemen and Vashta Nerada. Looks like you're feeling better now, though."

"I … what? But I gave them all … " An idea grabbed hold of her as forcefully as the cough, and she glared up at the infuriating man by her bedside with all the fury her tired mind could muster. "Oh, you sentimental idiot. Tell me you didn't."

"Didn't what? Share half of the lives the Time Lords sent me through a crack in the universe with my wife, who happens to be the only other Time Lord in this dimension?"

The Time Lords, alive? At any other point, this would have been momentous news; she tucked it neatly into the back of her mind, to be astonished over at another time – a time when she felt less like screaming with frustration.

"Sorry to disappoint you, hen, but that's exactly what I did."

She moved to slap the self-congratulating smile off his face, but he was too quick for her. He caught her wrist inches from her face.

"Pots and kettles, Professor," he said, rolling the R dangerously. "You did the same for me once."

"To make up for _killing _you!"

"I let you die in that chair."

"Because I handcuffed you, and because there was no other choice. It's not the same."

He let go of her wrist and, in a motion much more gentle than his words, placed her arm back by the side of her body. His new face, so much older and more careworn than the last, looked weary.

"Are we really going to do this again? Argue over who has the most right to save the other's life? For god's sake, River, we're married. I stopped keeping score between us centuries ago."

She sighed, effectively disarmed. Truth be told, she had never stopped "keeping score", as he called it, in her diary; she still felt the need to prove herself worthy of him, to fairly earn the forgiveness he had so generously granted her for killing him. How better to prove it than to save him, in spectacular fashion, as many times as possible? But he was right; marriage should not be a competition over who deserved whom. Amy and Rory had taught her that.

"Why do you have to be so … so _sensible _this time around?"

"What?" He chuckled low in his throat. "Afraid you'll grow bored?"

"With you, sweetie? Never." She reached up slowly to trace his cheek, learning the unfamiliar lines of his face like a new language. "Though I do love a good row."

"Don't worry." He caught her hand in his and laced their fingers together. "You'd try the patience of an Ood, woman. I'm sure we'll have plenty more arguments to come."

Was it wrong, she wondered with a little thrill of joy, that she loved to hear him speak with Amy's accent? God, he sounded like home.

Gold streamed from her fingertips, forcing him to let her go.

"By the way," he said, watching the last motes of energy disappear into the air, "Aren't you even going to ask about your new body? I'd have thought that would be the first thing on your mind."

"Are you calling me vain?"

"Since I don't care to be slapped again, I'd better answer no."

"Hate you."

"No, you don't."

"True, I don't. Especially not in this body. You're all sorts of … _distinguished._" She reached up to ruffle his silver hair; instead of ducking away, he half-closed his eyes and purred like a cat.

He reached for a nearby hand mirror and handed it to her, giving her the first glimpse of her new face.

Her first thought, oddly enough, was of Tasha Evangelista – the sweet, insecure, not-too-bright girl whom everyone, including Tasha herself, had believed was hired for her looks. The pin-straight, glossy black hair falling around her shoulders was like hers, which rather made sense; how often had she envied the younger woman for it, both before and after her death? Not that there had been much else to envy. Poor Miss Evangelista, left behind with CAL, Anita and the Daves inside the data bank. Was she happy there? One of these days, River would go back, contact CAL, find out how the little computer-girl was treating the souls in her care. If necessary, even set them free.

But the face … the sharp hazel eyes and elegant bone structure reminded her of Donna.

She needed a new name. She could hardly live as "River Song" with this face, after all. 52nd-century Luna, unlike Gallifrey, did not take regeneration into account when processing its citizens' identities. Besides, even after her pardon, there had been a certain stigma attached to her name as a former Stormcage inmate that she would gladly live without.

Donna? No. There could only be one Doctor-Donna pair. Tasha would do, though – a tribute to the innocent girl she'd failed to save.

Tasha who? She smiled to herself. Another form of Melody, Mel perhaps, or was that getting boring?

Or maybe she could use it backwards. Tasha Lem.

Oh, the mischief she could make if she met the Doctor now in his younger body. He wouldn't know who she was. Explaining it to him would be out, since it would mean explaining where her new life cycle had come from. Spoilers, indeed. It would raise their game to a whole new level of delicious complications.

"I think," she said, trying on a slow smile with her new lips. "I can work with this."

"Dangerous as ever is what you are," said the Doctor, his eyes lingering on every line of her face. "Those cheekbones should be made illegal. I thought I'd miss the curls at first, but I don't. Every you is the fairest of them all."

"Now you know how I feel." She crinkled her nose playfully. "Although I have to admit, that circus clown coat you wore in your sixth body – not to mention that _scarf … _"

"Oh, shush," said the Doctor, "Come here – "

And he leaned in to baptize both of their rebirths with a kiss.


	5. Chapter 5

"Tasha Lem?" exclaimed Clara, somewhere between amusement and dismay, as the Doctor entered the console room with a high-cheekboned, black-haired beauty on his arm. "Tasha Lem is River Song? Oh, now _that _explains a lot."

"Hello, Clara," said River Song serenely. "Have we met yet?"

Clara ducked her head, remembering a little too late that, since River alias Tasha´s time in the Library computer had never happened, she couldn´t have spoken to her ghost on Trenzalore. Come to think of it, since the Doctor hadn´t died there, the whole encounter with the Whispermen couldn´t have happened, including Clara´s own jump into the Doctor´s time stream. So why did she still remember it? She suspected the TARDIS, but since thinking about it only gave her a headache, it was best to let it go.

"Spoilers," the Doctor declared, holding up his free hand like a policeman directing traffic. "She hasn´t. She's only just regenerated. You might thank Clara, love, by the way, since that's her vortex manipulator you're wearing."

"Well then, I'm much obliged." River dropped a little curtsy, the black silk gown she had hunted up from the wardrobe rippling like water. "So – Amy? Rory? How do you like the makeover? Refreshing, don't you think?"

She posed gracefully, like a model on a runway, but it was clear that her heart was not quite in it. Amy and Rory, who had not said a single word since setting eyes on her, were frozen to the spot.

For just a moment, Clara pitied River. But soon that moment passed away, as the young parents converged on their centuries-old daughter with the same frantic joy with which they had welcomed back the Doctor.

"Jesus, River," was Amy's first coherent exclamation, as she ran a purple-nail-polished hand along River's ballerina bun."Where'd you get the genes for all that gorgeous hair? It's not from _my _side of the family, that's for sure!"

River smacked her mother's hand away, laughing, a childlike gesture poignantly at odds with the rest of her. Clara turned her face away.

"How long were you in there?" Rory demanded. "Trapped in a computer – Doctor, how long did you let this happen?"

"Too long," said the Doctor evenly. "I agree. I deserve everything you throw at me, Centurion. But let it be noted that I did, after all, rewrite time and bring her back."

"You did," said Rory, softening. "Thanks for that, mate. We owe you one."

"Don't be ridiculous. I stopped keeping track between us a long time ago."

Clara wandered slowly down the stairs, giving them privacy, noting wistfully that even the cool blue light of the TARDIS seemed warmer today, the hum of her engines lighter. Had the TARDIS ever locked out River Song? _Don't be childish, _she scolded herself. _Be happy for them. From everything the Doctor told me, haven't they suffered enough?_

She _was_ happy for them, and yet …

"Bit overwhelming, aren't they?"

Rory's Oxfords appeared on the top stair above her head at the same time his wry, kind voice drifted down to her. By the time his face came into view, even though his eyes still shone from the reunion with his daughter, they found themselves wearing a rather similar patient smile.

"You could say that," said Clara. "Aren't you … " She gestured up the curve of the staircase.

"Oh, sure." He shrugged. "But there'll be time to catch up later, once those three have got all the drama out of their systems. Meanwhile, I'm following tradition."

"What tradition?"

"Oh, just … I was the newest on board before you, so it's kind of my responsibility to make sure you're okay."

"The Doctor sent you?"

"Yep."

Nevertheless, Clara was moved – not only that the Doctor had thought of this, but that Rory took it seriously. This quiet, mousy-haired man in his button-down shirt and reading glasses had a truly kind heart.

"_Are _you okay?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. Yes." He peered at her through his glasses, unconvinced. "The four of you are just so … _married_."

To his credit, he did not laugh at her. Instead he nodded, as if he knew perfectly what she meant.

"Believe it or not, that's just how I used to feel," he said. "When I was first here with Amy and the Doctor. _I_ was her fiance, but people we met used to think it was him."

"Ouch."

"Yeah." Rory shrugged again, a gesture she was beginning to think of as his habit. "He has that effect on people, especially women. He doesn't mean to, but he does. For Amy, it went away when she saw me in danger … also because she does know, deep down, that I'm right for her in a way he's not. But for you … look, no offense. All I'm saying is, be careful."

Clara blushed, reading easily between the lines of that plain statement. "Is it that obvious?"

"Not to everyone, but I'm a nurse. I read people."

"Okay." She raised her head, determined to meet his eyes despite her visibly red face. "Then you can also read that I'm a grown-up, right? I understand that the 'effect', whatever you call it, goes away in time, and it's the friendship that lasts. Also, I don't date married men. That's not a place I want to go. Are we clear?"

"Clear." He clapped her on the shoulder, in the manner of a proud commanding officer praising a cadet. "You're really something else, Clara, you know that?"

"So are you," she replied sincerely, making him let out a good-natured _"tch!"_ of disbelief. "No, I mean it. You were wrong just now at your flat. You're every bit as special as those three up there, and don't you forget it."

"If you say so. We're both lucky, I suppose, Amy and me." He smiled up at the ceiling where his wife stood with concentrated warmth. "Someday I hope you find that for herself."

He started back up the stairs, gesturing for her to follow him, and so she did.

Despite her worries of being left out, she was greeted warmly from all sides. Amy beamed radiantly at her as she swept past to kiss Rory; the Doctor tipped his top hat to her; even River's face was kind.

"I believe this is yours, dear," said the Doctor's wife, unbuckling her vortex manipulator.

"Oh no," Clara demurred. "It belongs to UNIT, really. You keep it. You probably need it much more than I do."

"Thank you, Clara." The older woman kissed her gently on the cheek, no doubt leaving a lipstick mark, but it did not both her. "I'm sure I will."

"Oh, and thanks for that idea of yours about time management," added Amy. "Schedules were never my thing, so between the Doctor and my other life, I used to get awfully mixed up. He says you have it down to once a week, is that it? Same time?"

"That's right."

"Can the TARDIS manage that?"

"Oi! Not another word about my old girl," the Doctor broke in, patting the console in a reassuring way. "She's a time machine. Her timing was perfect millenia before you were born."

"Let's make it Saturday evenings then," said Amy, whipping a black diary out of her purse and beginning to write. "Rory, what do you think?"

"Saturday at eight," said her sensible husband. "After supper. I'm not running from aliens on an empty stomach."

Amid their laughter and chatter, there was a sudden jolt. Clara, who like her fellow passengers recognized it as the TARDIS landing, clung to the railing with practiced strength.

"Leadworth, April ninth, two thousand thirteen AD. Outside temperature, fifteen degrees celsius. Sunny but variable. Unfasten your seatbelts, return all chairs to an upright position, and … since we have neither seatbelts nor chairs, I really should find something more appropriate to say."

The cool and professional airline pilot impression fooled nobody; he was positively glowing.

"Big hand for the captain," Amy suggested, and they all clapped.

"You do realize I'll be turning up again and again, don't you?" said the Doctor. "Can't get rid of me now."

"Well, babes," River drawled, kissing him on the cheek. "That's a drawback we're just going to have to live with."

"Look after him, Clara, won't you?" said Amy, and "Look after _her_," Rory added sternly to the Doctor, who saluted in response.

They were almost at the doorframe when Clara, seeing her last chance before it disappeared, pulled her mobile phone from her skirt pocket and hurried forward with a face as red as the pleated tartan.

"Amy, wait," she blurted out. "Can I – can I take your picture? I wouldn't show it to anyone. Besides, they'd all think it was photoshopped anyway."

And that was how Amelia Williams, author of _Summer Falls, _godmother of Clara's highest hopes and dreams, wrapped a sisterly arm around her shoulders and snapped a casual, smiling "selfie" of them both.

Clara would keep it for the rest of her life.

The Doctor snapped his fingers. Silence fell as the doors flew open.

A cool spring breeze was wafting in from outside, scented with fresh green and dust after rain. Th TARDIS faced a small townhouse with a bright blue door, and a garden in front about the size of a twin bed. A man was working there with grim concentration, crouching on his knees, digging in a flowerbed with his back to them. He wore a plaid shirt with a blue vest over it, and his thin white hair was plastered to the back of his head with sweat. He did not seem to have noticed their arrival; it was only then that Clara noticed that the TARDIS engines had been silent all along.

Rory was the first to step outside. A twig snapped under his shoe. The old man straightened up, brushed dirt from his jeans, and turned around.

"Hi, Dad," said Rory. "Thanks for, uh … taking care of the plants."

The old man – Mr. Williams – blossomed. There was no other word for it. Decades seemed to fall away from him as his hunched shoulders straightened, his withered face flushed, and his eyes began to shine. The trowel dropped, unnoticed, from his hand.

Rory grabbed Amy's hand and pulled her forward; Amy, in turn, gestured to River, saying something over her shoulder that sounded like "about time". River, smoothing her femme-fatale gown with uncharacteristic shyness, followed her parents out.

With another _snap, _the doors closed softly on the family reunion, leaving Clara and the Doctor alone. He stood with that controlled kind of stillness she was learning to get used to, one hand on the TARDIS console, his ancient eyes staring into space. Was he remembering past adventures with his family, or dreaming of the future they would have? Most likely it was both.

"So," she said brightly. "That was nice."

"_Nice?_" He raised a heavy eyebrow at her.

"Oh, all right, it was absolutely lovely."

"That's more like it."

"We should do this more often. Hang out with your family, I mean. Instead of getting trapped in Soviet submarines or naked in the snow."

"Hrrmph."

"Your wife's gorgeous, by the way, in both her bodies. You have good taste."

"Present company included, is that it?"

"If you say so, Doctor."

"Hrrmph."

He shot her a sly sideways look, catching her just as she tucked her mobile back into her pocket. "Careful with that, aye? I had no idea you were such a … what do they call it in your time? … _fangirl _of my mother-in-law. It was very entertaining."

"Shut up!"

"_Can I take your picture?_" he mimicked, in a squeaky falsetto that made Clara put her hands over her ears, then ducked out of the way very neatly for his age as she aimed a punch at his shoulder. Teasing each other like teenagers, they chased each other around and around the console room while the TARDIS chimed with laughter.

It was not until later, thinking over the day at home, that Clara would realize the subtle shift that had taken place. She hadn't missed his bow tie, his tweed jacket, his handsome face and boyish energy for a moment. She had been there, with _this _Doctor, every step of the way – this Doctor who, even in the middle of a joyful reunion with the family he'd thought was lost forever, had still stopped to make sure she wasn't left out. The hurt she'd felt since Christmas had been well and truly healed.

_Which is, of course,_ she thought with a secret smile, _exactly what he wanted._


End file.
